


One More Chance XXV

by DancingHare



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 05:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingHare/pseuds/DancingHare
Summary: Vassanta attends Brewfest and meets up with an old friend.





	One More Chance XXV

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published October 7, 2008

Vassanta was freezing, but she didn’t care. The snowdrifts and ice-rimed trees were a welcome relief after the weeks of searing heat and choking dust of the peninsula. And best of all, the ale was flowing freely: The dwarves of Ironforge were gathered for their annual celebration of ale. Brewfest — the holiday so brilliant, she wished she’d thought of it first.

The cheerful, red-cheeked dwarf handed her a ticket for a souvenir mug, and she waded through the crowd to the ticket booth. There, a saucy little gnome whistled and cat-called to the passersby, regardless of race or gender or anything else. Vassanta had to grin at her audacity. “Could I get my mug, please?” she asked, sliding her ticket across the counter. The pink-haired gnome reached deftly beneath the counter and brought out a stein made of blue porcelain and silver.

“Sure thing, honey,” she said with a wink. “Enjoy yourself!”

Vassanta couldn’t help but crack a grin. “I always do,” she replied, turning to survey the huge kegs that were set up around the perimeter. There were so many different ales to choose from, she wasn’t certain where she should start. Barleybrew was light and sweet, but she usually preferred the extra body and kick of the Thunderbrew’s wares. Then there were the ogres… Vassanta gave the barkers a dubious look. Ogre brew was certainly not for the faint of heart, and it was a guaranteed fast ride to being drunk. She twirled her mug idly, finally deciding a half-mug of Ogre brew would be a good opener. But as she made her way over to the keg, she paused, her eyes wide.

A night elf with pale blue hair was downing what couldn’t be his first mug, dribbling some of it onto his leathers. Vassanta felt a broad smirk cross her face, and she moved up to fill her own mug.

“So, have you saved the world yet, Malcos?”

She half expected him to take a swing, or at the very least huff and stomp off, but he did neither. Instead, he almost dropped his mug. “They’re back again!” he exclaimed, his wavering finger pointing somewhere into the trees beyond the fence. “The invisible rabbits!”

Obviously, Malcos had already been drinking for a while this evening. “Uh,” said Vassanta, cocking her head in the direction of the trees. “They sure are.” She looked back at him again, puzzled. Did he really not recognize her? He didn’t seem to be paying her much mind, crouching down to refill his mug at the tap again. She took him by the elbow and led him back near the fence, where no one could stumble over him. Leaning back against the railing, she eyed him over critically. He looked stronger and more seasoned, even though it hadn’t been that long since she’d seen him last. And if he looked like that with his armor on… she could only imagine what he looked like underneath. She couldn’t deny that she still found him attractive, even after all that had happened. Maybe it was the ears.

If he’d been more sober, he’d certainly have appreciated the irony of her coming back to him after her latest distraction had disappeared. Vassanta hadn’t heard from Melikgaar since he’d been reassigned, and that had been several months ago. If she’d wanted to find someone else, there was no shortage of willing soldiers in Shattrath, but Vassanta had — to her own amazement — simply kept waiting for him to return. She arched an amused brow down at Malcos, who had settled down in the snow and appeared to be stroking one of his invisible rabbits. So why was she drawn back to him, knowing the odds of him accepting her were slim? Maybe there was a little guilt, maybe because he was convenient… she found it difficult to admit the truth, but it was there, nagging in the back of her mind. He’d offered something that no one else would, not even the Vindicator. He wanted something more; something that at the time, she couldn’t provide. Now, she thought that she might.

But more likely than not, she had ruined all of that, and the pieces would never go back together. She could hardly blame him for that, it was her own fault. For one night though, she could pretend, and maybe it would bring some closure to both of them.

She glanced up to see Caelris eyeing her with what she guessed was a disapproving look. Druids often did that, in her experience. “What are you doing here?” she asked, arching a brow. “I don’t think they have any elf wine.”

The druid gave Malcos a polite nod, before he flattened his ears at Vassanta. “I thought it wise to learn more about the festivals of our allies,” he explained, tugging at his robe. She had the feeling there might be something else that he wasn’t telling her, but she didn’t feel the need to press. “Well,” she said, indicating the keg across the way. “I suggest you start with some Barleybrew, it’s not too strong.”

Caelris eyed a stumbling human warily. “Hm, I think I will pass,” he muttered.

“Damn, my ass is getting cold,” Malcos announced, and Vassanta snickered into her mug. The druid had to be freezing, he was wearing a thin robe, and no shoes at all.

“Yeah, maybe we should get back to the town. It’s starting to snow…” Vassanta stood, brushing the clinging snow from her tabard. “And my tail’s getting cold too.”

She gave a little squeak of surprise as she felt Malcos’ fingers on her tail. “I could warm it up for you!” he said, grinning broadly. This was going to be far easier than she’d expected. Caelris coughed and pretended not to notice.

“Oh?” she purred, “But you might mishandle it.”

“You’ll have to teach me the proper techniques,” Malcos said earnestly, which was sort of cute while he was drunk. “Just a minute!” he said suddenly, veering off to the fence, where his horse was tied. He wasn’t really going to try and ride now, was he? Vassanta had to hope that the horse had the good sense to go straight to the inn.

Malcos rode back, still clinging to the side of the saddle. “There!” he said, settling down on it. “Want a ride?” he grinned broadly down at Vassanta.

She felt her ears color as she nodded. “Why not.” Taking his hand, she swung up onto the horse’s back and put her arms around his waist. “We’ll meet you back at the inn,” she said over her shoulder to Caelris, who looked even more annoyed than before.

The horse did not seem to notice her extra weight, breaking into an easy canter as they rode up the road into Kharanos, just outside of the festival. The town saw plenty of extra business during the holiday, and the tavern was crowded with people, but they found an empty alcove to sit down. Caelris joined them a few minutes later, shaking the snow from his feet.

Malcos hailed the bartender and got a drink for each of them. Even Caelris tried his, though he made a sour face at it. “Why do the dwarves drink this?” he asked, squinting into the mug. They all talked for a while longer, though Vassanta could hardly remember about what; the ale and the warmth from the fire were making her sleepy. Malcos got up again, and she thought that he was leaving, but he soon returned with a set of keys. “There are two rooms left,” he said. “You’re welcome to share mine.” With a sly grin, he tossed one of the keys to her.


End file.
